The Land of Illusions
by avanti90
Summary: A look behind the scenes at Doctor Mehta and Commodore Tailor during Shards of Honor. What were the Betans really thinking?


"Mustn't talk about the Prince. That mountain of corpses..."

Silly girl, thought Doctor Mehta, watching the red-haired captain contemptuously. Did she think she was concealing anything? Five minutes into what wasn't even a proper interrogation and she was already giving it away. If Mehta had really wanted her secrets, she could have gotten them in under five seconds. Tailor had obviously been mistaken, if he had thought this one a good candidate for high command.

Mehta watched Naismith take a a deep breath, inhaling the pungent cigarette smoke, so relaxing to the mind. Suddenly Naismith lurched to her feet, comprehension dawning in her eyes. "You're-drugging-me..."

Mehta leaned forward, lips parted in concentration as she watched Naismith stagger forward. Yes, the drug was working perfectly...

Naismith swept the recorder from the table, smashing it again and again with her fist. "Never talk!" she howled. "No more death! You can't make me! Blew it-you can't get away with it, I'm sorry, watchdog, remembers every word, I'm sorry, shot him, please, talk to me, please, let me out, please let me out pleaseletmeout ..." she fell to her knees beside the wreckage, her shouts slowly fading away into incoherent mumbling.

Mehta waited until Naismith closed her eyes and fell silent. Then she knelt down beside the captain. "Very good," she whispered in soothing tones. "It's all right. Now, Captain Naismith, you will listen to me. When you wake up, you will feel as if no time has passed, and you will remember nothing about this conversation. This is what you will do..."

* * *

Tailor turned to Mehta as they stood outside the apartment door. "Are you sure her mother will cooperate?" he asked.

Mehta motioned to the two agents, one dressed as a journalist and the other as his vidman. At her unspoken command both men positioned themselves in the hallway. "I've modeled her reactions to ninety-five per cent accuracy," she answered quietly. "All my predictions agree that she will."

She could see a twinge of regret in Tailor's face. "I'm sorry," she offered. "I know Captain Naismith was your friend."

Tailor turned and looked her in the eye. "She still is," he said. "And I still think we should tell her the truth. She'll cooperate. She's loyal to Beta."

"She's in love with Vorkosigan," Mehta answered. "We can't trust her anymore."

Tailor said nothing for a moment. Then he nodded in resignation. He was one of the high command; he knew better than to question the chief therapist. He knew how far Betan psychology had really advanced. He knew his duty.

There was only a seventy-five percent chance that he would carry it out; she would have to watch him carefully.

* * *

"That hurt," said Mehta accusingly, sitting up as Tailor removed the gag. "You didn't tell me how strong she was."

"It went perfectly," Tailor assured her, removing the chain belt from her wrists. "She's headed for the spaceport. Mayhew is ready for her."

"Give them thirty minutes to get clear. Then sound the alert."

Tailor nodded reluctant agreement. "She won't be happy there," he said quietly. "She may love Vorkosigan, but she'll hate Barrayar. She's going to be wasted on that backwater planet."

"She won't be wasted to us," Mehta pointed out. "Think of the greater good. A brainwashed Betan agent as Regent-consort. In a position with access to classified information. A position in which she can influence the Council of Counts and the young Emperor. It's the biggest chance we've had in years. And the Barrayarans are sexist enough that they won't even notice it. They have no idea how much power a woman can wield."

Even now, she marvelled at the brilliance of the plan. Only Steady Freddy would have had the genius and the audacity to think of it. But then, a man who could become President of Beta Colony in spite of the fact that _no one admitted to having voted for him_ was a force to be reckoned with.

His idea to feed the plasma mirror design to Negri's agents had been a terrible risk, but it had worked magnificently. It had simultaneously weakened wealthy Escobar and arrogant Barrayar, removed the threat of Prince Serg, and sealed Beta Colony's diplomatic, scientific and financial dominance of the nexus for the next several decades. And he had handled the politics brilliantly all the while, forcing concessions from Escobar in exchange for Betan help, ensuring that all Escobaran reconstruction contracts would be awarded to Betan companies, while looking like a hero and ensuring his own re-election to boot.

Aloud, she said only, "if Barrayar descends into chaos, it'll give the Cetas a foothold in our backyard. We need them weak, but strong enough to keep the Cetas off our backs. And for that we need Vorkosigan to be Regent."

"And we need Cordelia," agreed Tailor. "I know. Barrayar is too important to be left to Barrayarans."

"Exactly. We need our enemies distracted for the next century, so that our plans for Betan supremacy can proceed in secret."

"And who knows?" said Tailor, smiling. "We might even live long enough to see it happen."

She smiled back at him. "Why not? After all, we've both taken the rejuvenation treatment."


End file.
